


sailor bold

by theredtailedhawkwithjewelsforeyes



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, M/M, Pirates, captain dandelion!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:15:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22623907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theredtailedhawkwithjewelsforeyes/pseuds/theredtailedhawkwithjewelsforeyes
Summary: “Anything to say?” he drawls, dropping into the seat across from the man. Handsome, strong brows and stronger jaw and long white hair half tied back. And thoseeyes, glinting gold.“About?” he asks, low grumble like thunder. Jaskier grins- he’s wary, and there is a dagger tucked into his waistband and strapped around his thigh and ankle and another in his boot, a short sword hidden under the ruffles of his shirt, but he feels somehow safe anyway. Even when he sees the uniform he’s wearing. A Navyman, then. Royalist. Beautiful, though. And of course he doesn’t know Jaskier on sight.“My playing, of course! Everyone else hadsomecommentary.”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 55
Kudos: 308





	1. Chapter 1

Jaskier is- 

Well, the important thing to note is that he is not a murderer. Yes, he’s a thief, and yes,  _ sure _ , he sinks some ships (not even on purpose, generally!), and he has an excellent sense of style, all ruffles and purple silk, but he is not a murderer. When people hear the word pirate they jump to conclusions, and Jaskier  _ gets it _ , sure, don’t get him wrong, pirates can be the  _ worst _ , but he’s not one of the mean ones. He steals hearts, and gold, and the structural integrity of opposing ships. 

(Sometimes. That’s a little dangerous for his taste, but when someone’s shooting cannonballs at you you do what you have to do.)

He knows what bad pirates are like. Everyone knows what bad pirates are like, but Jaskier knows it very intimately and integrally. His life has pivoted on a centerpoint of pirates fucking things over. That he chooses it anyways, and chooses to be somewhat noble with it- 

Jaskier is not a murder. Jaskier is a pirate captain, actually, and a really wonderful one at that- he likes to think he’s revamping the business. Making it less about pillaging villages and more about being dashing and writing pretty songs and stealing from people who honestly have far too much already. He swashbuckles and wears nice clothes. He doesn’t actually hurt anyone except for the hearts of the many he’s left with cold beds. 

The people love a good pirate, and especially a pretty pirate  _ captain _ , but the Crown hates them. They especially hate Jaskier, because Jaskier adores stealing from the Crown and writing fun songs about them. (Once he’d tried to steal the Crown itself, but it had proven elusive.) 

They have a bounty on his head- or Captain Dandelion’s, to be more precise- for ten thousand gold coins. Jaskier would be impressed if he wasn’t busy being a mixture of frightened and offended. He’s not a  _ murderer _ , he’s just a redistributer of wealth! A connoisseur of good wine, good music, good sex. A fashionable rogue. 

Currently, he’s balanced on the railing of the  _ Nightingale _ , one hand clinging to a bit of dangling rope and the other gesturing rather obscenely at the rapidly gaining Royal ship. 

“Piss off,” he bellows across the waves. There’s a tinny sort of boom, and then a whistle, and Jaskier has just enough time to yelp in surprise before Yennefer shoves him down to the deck and explodes the cannonball in midair. 

“Idiot,” she snaps at him. He considers telling her that he’s the captain of this ship, but it’s not like Yen’s a crew member- she’s just a mage who hangs around and causes trouble, and she loves to remind him he has no power over her. Still, she’d saved his life, so he grits his teeth into a grin and gives her a silly bow. 

“ _ Lovely _ Lady Yennefer, you’ve saved me again, you-” 

“Hush.” She stretches a hand toward the approaching ship, and it stops short. Jaskier claps his hands, delightedly. 

“Oh, you-” He hops back onto the railing, squinting over at where it bobs gently and giving it the finger again. “Take that, you thrice-cursed sons of whores! You pox-ridden bootlicking fishbait! You worm-dicked squirming babes!” 

“Heard you have a bounty out,” Yennefer says, interrupting him casually and leaning against a mast. “How much? You think I should go for it?” 

“Ten thousand gold pieces,” complains Jaskier, sliding back down and giving an unhappy little bounce. The wood of the deck creaks under his boots, and he drops to his knees to give her a gentle pat like he’s soothing a spooked horse. “Keep it together, girl. Ten  _ thousand _ gold pieces! I’m almost insulted, really. I’ve stolen twice that in a single raid.” 

“That could buy me a really lovely cloak,” muses Yennefer. Jaskier flaps a hand at her. 

“Just- just get what’s her name to magic one for you. The other mage, the one who’s infatuated with-” 

“She’s not infatuated with me,” she says coldly, blushing to ruin the effect. 

“Then why does she keep popping up on my ship? To mingle?” He sweeps a hand around, gesturing at the empty deck and the single diminishing fleck in the distance that is the Royal ship. 

(A little known fact: Jaskier doesn’t actually have a crew. He’s a captain by virtue of it being his own ship, even if it’s technically stolen and technically far too small to be a ship, and because of the hat he wears. Sometimes he invites people aboard, but they always leave. He likes to tell Yennefer she’s his First Mate, just to watch her wrinkle her nose. His notoriety is all him.)

“To make fun of your dress,” Yen sneers, immediately. Jaskier puts a hand over his wounded heart, which is covered by the ruffled silk of what might perhaps be a lady’s blouse. It’s not a  _ dress _ , though, and he’s definitely still wearing trousers. 

“Just because it has a bit of lace,” he says, hotly, and she flicks her fingers and portals away and leaves him all alone in the middle of the ocean. 

Jaskier sighs, pulls out his lute, and sits down cross-legged to compose a song about Captain Dandelion’s daring escape from bloodthirsty Royalists. 

-

Jaskier likes to dock with his flag down. He likes to dock, period, and it’s better when no one knows it’s him- when he’s just another beaten down little ship straggling in, looking to waste coin and a night in a tavern. 

It can be very lonely on the sea, even with Yennefer and Triss dropping in, and Jaskier is a performer at heart even with a bounty on his head. No one expects a flashy bard to be Dread Pirate Captain Dandelion, who steals gold and woos women (and men. And anyone) and sometimes liberates people, when they need liberating. The anonymity is nice, and it gives him a chance to sing about himself without sounding too terribly conceited, and most importantly it gets him free drinks. 

He’s pleasantly buzzed by the third ale, and well on his way to sloshed by the seventh, and the tavern is loud and cheery and not half dark and there’s a man in the corner, sort of hulking. His eyes shine bright in the shadows like freshly minted coins. He feels heavy, somehow, like he has a gravity of his own, and Jaskier is drawn into it. 

“Anything to say?” he drawls, dropping into the seat across from the man. Handsome, strong brows and stronger jaw and long white hair half tied back. And those  _ eyes _ , glinting gold. 

“About?” he asks, low grumble like thunder. Jaskier grins- he’s wary, and there is a dagger tucked into his waistband and strapped around his thigh and ankle and another in his boot, a short sword hidden under the ruffles of his shirt, but he feels somehow safe anyway. Even when he sees the uniform he’s wearing. A Navyman, then. Royalist. Beautiful, though. And of course he doesn’t know Jaskier on sight.

“My playing, of course! Everyone else had  _ some _ commentary.” 

“I’m drinking alone.”

Jaskier laughs. “C’mon, captain. What’s the harm in a little company?”

“I’m drinking alone,” he repeats, sharp eyes taking Jaskier in. He props his elbows on the table, leans his chin into cupped hands. 

“What’s your name, then?” 

He sips at his drink. Grumpy and quiet as anything, but still so solid and weighty. Jaskier thinks he could write a thousand songs about him if he could, but for now-

“What brings you here? Where are your navy buddies? You off hunting a dread pirate?” He gets up to leave. Jaskier jumps to his feet and skips after him, knives and swords warm with body heat and lute tucked in close to his chest. Safe, though he has no-one watching his back. He’ll watch his own damn back. “Nothing, then?  _ C’mon _ , captain-” 

“Not a captain,” he grits out, voice very low. “My name’s Geralt.” 

And then he’s gone, Jaskier beaming after him. He can tell, by the tugging in his chest, that they’ll meet again. 

In the meantime, though- a song. Gold coins for eyes, strong shoulders, a sword at his hip. The chord progression is in his head already.


	2. Chapter 2

The next time they meet, Jaskier’s running for his life. Not from a mob of Crown soldiers, for once, but from an innkeeper with a very long sword and a vendetta. 

“I said I was  _ sorry _ ,” Jaskier tosses over his shoulder, breathlessly. He’ll fight if he has to, but for now he’s content to duck and weave his way through a crowded market street. No use giving up his cover as useless bard, not with uniforms on every corner. 

“You fucked my wife!” The man howls. 

“And you fucked  _ me _ ! See, infidelity all around, I-  _ ouch! _ Hey!” 

The sword nicks at his elbow, and he’s just whirling to draw his own when a hulking figure melts out of the crowd around him. The innkeeper stumbles to a stop, face paling. 

Fucking  _ Geralt _ stands in front of him, weapon drawn. It’s such a startling sight Jaskier’s mouth just hangs in a little ‘o’ for a long, long moment. The innkeeper doesn’t look to be doing much better. 

“Captain,” he says, politely. “Uh- hello! Fancy meeting you here!” 

“Bard,” says Geralt, all gravel.

“ _ Whore _ ,” snaps the innkeeper, lunging suddenly and unwisely. Geralt dispatches him with terrifying efficiency, twisting the sword out of his hand. Jaskier blinks at the both of them, and then the innkeeper turns to run. 

“Sorry,” Jaskier yells after him, a little belatedly- then he remembers the wound on his elbow and flips the retreating figure off. “Geralt! What are you doing here?” 

“Shopping,” grunts Geralt. He has a basket over his arm, containing four bottles of vodka and a single orange.

“Just about finished?” 

“Finished.” 

He absorbs that, then shrugs, bouncing on his heels. “So, dear Geralt-” 

“You wrote a song about me, bard,” Geralt snaps, coldly. Jaskier shrugs again. 

“Uh, yes, I- was I not supposed to? Are you in hiding? Really, Geralt, you need to be a little more subtle, you-” 

Geralt grunts again. “Not in hiding.” 

“Then what?” 

He starts walking. Jaskier follows behind him, in what he’s recognizing is beginning to resemble a pattern. “Looking for someone.” 

Interesting. Jaskier has a terrible feeling about this, but he also can tell it’s going to make a fantastic ballad, so he just skips a little to keep up. “Who? The great mage Tissaia de Vries? Your true love? A far distant princess? Dread Captain Dandelion?” 

The side eye he’s cut tells him he’s right on the nose. Oh,  _ excellent _ . And awful, because he doesn’t love lying, but- still, excellent. “I heard,” he says, conspiratorially, “he goes South for the winter months. Chilly over here, isn’t it?” 

“You were singing about him when we met,” Geralt grits out. 

“Yes, I was! So you remember!” 

“Met him?” 

Jaskier presses a hand to his throat, feigning delicate shock. “Met a  _ pirate _ ? Oh, no thank you. He just seems so daring and dashing and  _ fun _ . Captain Geralt, what do you say I accompany you?” 

“No.” 

But for all his gruffness- and for all of the way he smacks Jaskier in the gut, narrowly avoiding punching one of his hidden daggers up and in- he doesn’t actually drive him away. He leaves the  _ Nightingale _ safely docked, flag down and things packed into his own bag, boards Geralt’s little ship with his lute in hand. He’s always been one for an adventure, especially a dangerous one. What’s the point if you make it out without any scars? 

-

He is perched in the crow’s nest, cross-legged, plucking out a tune. The salty air ruffles his hair, the lace of his chemise, coats his teeth. There is nothing more familiar in the world than the sting of it in his eyes. 

Jaskier has grown up on the sea. He’d hardly been old enough to walk when his village had been slaughtered and burned- the pirates had spared him, for some reason. Cruelty, most likely. He’d grown up below decks, lashing sails and sharpening swords and earning trust. He’d poisoned the lot of them when he’d turned eleven, arsenic in their drink stolen from an apothecary. There was no room for mercy then. 

(The little bottle is still tucked in with his things, a dusty reminder beside silks and jewels and coins. Before versus now. Past versus present.)

He doesn’t kill anymore. Through anything, he doesn’t kill. But he steals. Sometimes he has to hurt people. The life of a pirate is not easy, and it had chosen him anyway. 

Right now, though- he’s sat up in the crow’s nest of Geralt’s ship. Her name is  _ Cockroach _ , which Jaskier could (and often does) swear is the worst name he’s ever heard but which Geralt won’t hear a word against. He sings a lot more than usual, separated from his ship and his life as he is. 

Captain Dandelion is thought to be in hiding. He wonders what the Crown would say if they knew he’s sticking to the side of the very man hired to hunt him down, and the thought makes him grin- from up here his songs are quiet, and so he can compose about his real life in peace. 

-

Geralt is not tracking just him. He’s got a little list that he won’t let Jaskier see, and he’s not even a Crown sailor judging by the company he keeps. He wears the uniform, sometimes, but it’s one of many. His casual clothes are all black, with a pendant he can never quite catch a glimpse of. 

Jaskier snaps his fingers. “You’re a bounty hunter!” 

“Hm,” grunts Geralt. He’s sharpening his sword, sat with his tree-trunk legs outstretched on an overturned box. There’s a lantern hanging that casts flickering shadows on his face, makes his eyes gleam like a cat’s. 

“What guild?” It’s honest curiosity and foreboding, all mixed into one delightful shiver. There are regular bounty hunters, and then there are- “Are you a  _ Witcher _ , Geralt?” 

No response, but it’s carefully measured. Jaskier rocks back on his heels to consider this. 

Witchers are- they’re bounty hunters, sort of. Historically they killed monsters, but they did so well that they wiped them out; they’re rare, now. Sightings quickly eradicated before they can cause too much trouble.

But the Witchers remain. Jaskier’s heard of them, of course. Ruthless hunters, mutated to be as efficient as possible, adapting to a changing world by hiring themselves out to humans. He never thought he’d  _ meet _ one, but it explains some things- the medallion. The golden eyes, the white hair, the taciturn nature. 

“You are, aren’t you!” Not a question. Jaskier searches that face, the planes of his cheekbones and lips and strong nose. “How old are you, then? Can’t you lot-” 

“Jaskier,” Geralt says, voice all gravel and silt. “Shut up.” 

“I just wanted to  _ know _ ,” he says, a little petulantly. They don’t make Witchers anymore. All the Schools are crumbled to the ground. The ones that remain are strong and old and legendary. He searches that face, tries to remember stories he’d heard. “You’re the Wolf, aren’t you?” 

“Jaskier.” No room for argument. He claps, delightedly. 

“The White Wolf! The explains the- the hair, I guess, and the eyes, and-” 

“I’ll throw you overboard,” Geralt snaps, very cold. “Shut  _ up _ .” 

Jaskier shuts up, but he’s still beaming. And terrified, sure, because this means he’s definitely going to be found out, and sooner rather than later, but- 

Captain Dandelion and the White Wolf. Jaskier and the Witcher. What a story it will be. 

-

Yennefer appears on the ship, because of course she does. She’s not in the habit of keeping out of Jaskier’s business. 

Less expected is her reaction to Geralt- less expected still is Geralt’s reaction to her. He practically growls at her, and she stiffens and goes all frozen cold, and Jaskier pauses from where he’s been plaiting a chain of rushes. 

“Guys,” he says, a little uncertainly. “Do-” 

“Yennefer,” Geralt snaps, voice like a cliff face. 

“Witcher,” she says, all pleasant ice.

“What are  _ you _ doing here,” they say in unison. Jaskier shifts up onto his knees, chain discarded. 

“So I’m guessing you know each other?” They both glare at him like this is  _ his _ fault, and he raises his hands. “Christ, settle down! How was I supposed to- how do you- what the fuck?” It’s not eloquent, but it gets the feeling across well enough. 

“Old friends,” Yennefer says, a saccharine sweet note entering her tone. It’s mocking- Jaskier doesn’t know who it’s directed towards. Maybe both of them. He narrows his eyes. 

“Which one of you is the jilted lover, then?” 

Geralt grits his teeth. Yennefer looks away pointedly. It’s less than illuminating. “I’ll go with both of you. Yennefer, how absolutely lovely to see you! I’ve missed your soul-searching gaze. Unless you’re here to tell me bad news, in which case-” 

“You’ve taken up with a Witcher,” she says, dryly, taking his elbow and leading him a few paces away. Apparently just so they’re not so close to Geralt. It’s a little rude, but Yennefer is always a little rude. “You’re probably filled to bursting with bad news.  _ Jaskier _ ,” she hisses. “Do you really think-” 

“He makes for excellent songs,” Jaskier says, innocently. 

“He will run you through,” she murmurs, painted lips right up next to his ear. Jaskier shrugs. 

“Maybe. Eventually. But he’s a good man, Yen. What news?” 

She searches his face for a long moment, before shrugging. “Nothing you haven’t already gotten wind of, apparently.” Which means that she’d heard there’s a Witcher on his scent. “Keep your head down. You’re an amusement I don’t want to lose.” 

“How  _ sweet _ ,” he drawls, pressing a hand to his chest. “So good to know you actually care-” 

She’s gone with a flick of her wrist, but for once he’s not left alone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> geralt voice im too old for this shit

**Author's Note:**

> im SORRY i know i have three chaptered fics i have not finished this is just SO FUN and it wouldnt leave my head.... listen ill take a nap and then work on next chapters for my other ones 
> 
> that being SAID. pirate jaskier is making me scream its so good..... hes such a little asshole and no one expects HIM. also dread captain dandelion is genuinely the best name in the world im changing my name legally. ok thats it i love you 
> 
> if u like this please leave a comment!! chapters should go up relatively quickly 
> 
> (also im on tumblr at redjewelsforeyes.tumblr.com!)


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